


Miss You Much (Make You Mine)

by thatgoodgood (reloadeds)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Comedy, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6324835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reloadeds/pseuds/thatgoodgood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing you has become a bad habit of mine...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss You Much (Make You Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> MEMO 10.29.16: please note that the lyric excerpts referenced in this work are pulled from my own translation that I had done from watching fancams from yixing’s birthday party in 2015 and conferring with other sources. seeing that yixing has released a studio version of mym along with the official chinese lyrics, I would like to mention that I am aware of some inaccuracies in this work. I apologize.  
> that being said, hilariously, I’ve now just realized the working title for the mym sequel is also a misheard lyric. I apologize for any confusion, and promise that all mym references used in the sequel will be adjusted by the time it is released.
> 
> \-----
> 
> originally posted as a part of kissfanxing round 2!
> 
> somewhere along the way of writing this this just ended up being an excuse for me to drool over an unhealthy amount of mym fancams and make fun of yifan for a few thousand words.
> 
> anyways, a million thanks to l.e for betaing this abomination. also, special thanks to pj for all the support and holding my hand throughout this hell of a journey.
> 
> @ prompter -- I kinda sorta maybe fell in love with this prompt at first sight, so I owe you a huge thank you as well for helping me get over my 8 month dry spell. I hope this didn’t go off in too many directions for your liking. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you have a lot of fun reading this!

 

 

 

 

On the fifth ring of the seventh phone call in the last fifteen minutes, Yifan finally picks up, unskillfully jabbing at the green button with his left pinky.  
  
“What do you want, Luhan?” Yifan grunts, using his pinky to tap on the speaker button.  
  
_“Have you been in the group chat lately?”_ A familiar taunting voice sounds from the phone resting on the duvet. A hint of a giggle crackles through as well.  
  
“No. Zitao posts way too many selfies in there for the world to handle, much less eleven other people. I don’t think I’m missing much.”  
  
_“Well, you should really check it out sometime,”_ Luhan chides. _“Apparently, everyone got a night off and someone snuck in soju to the dorm and Sehun‘s passed out behind the couch and now Jongdae and Baekhyun are trying to dye his hair green again.”_  
  
As if on cue, Yifan’s phone jumps to life with a new message Chanyeol sent into said chat. Attached was a picture of Sehun, knocked out in fetal position on the floor, with Baekhyun kneeling next to him, wielding a menacingly large industrial paint brush. Jongdae sat cross-legged on the other side of the chosen victim, holding a plastic bowl of what could have been mistaken for Junmyeon’s cooking if Yifan didn’t already figure it to be hair dye. He could practically smell the bleach through the screen.  
  
(Or maybe it was just the stench of whatever skincare concoction he had just slathered onto his own face. But that was a different matter for a different time.)  
  
“Jesus,” is all Yifan can find himself to say in response.  
  
_“I know, right? This is hilarious.”_ Yifan can hear Luhan trying to stifle his guffaws from the other end of the line. _“Imagine if you were there. You’d probably be passed out next to Sehun, and if I was there too, I would have pushed for you to go hot pink.”_  
  
Yifan scoffs. “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’d have anything to work with anyways.”  
  
As Luhan cackles freely, Yifan glances up at the vanity sitting across from his hotel bed, eyes fixating on the top of his head - the barren wasteland. The hairless terrain. His egghead. He figures that now would be a comically good time to massage his own bare scalp in some sort of repressed longing, but he remembers that nine out of his ten fingers are currently covered in some mysterious gunk, composition relatively unknown.  
  
_“Anyways.”_ Some soft rustling filters through, and Yifan figures that the other is probably nestled in bed as well, in some other hotel miles away from where Yifan sits on his. _“I had lunch with Yixing the other day, and he told me to thank you again for the birthday gift. He really loves it, you know? Thinks it's beautiful. Keeps staring at it on his wrist with this dopey smile on his face. It’s nauseating.”_  
  
Yifan smiles fondly, recalling the many messages he had received from Yixing while in a business meeting that morning. He had kept his phone balanced on his kneecaps underneath the conference table, silently thanking the fanboards he had stalked in the weeks prior for having accurate information on the whereabouts of the boy’s hotel. God knows what disaster could have struck if his bouquet of roses, gift, and card signed _“your dearest (and most handsome) (and sexiest) Yifan”_ arrived at the wrong address.  
  
_“-Yifan? Are you even listening to me?”_  
  
Yifan shakes his head and makes a small noise in apology. He can hear Luhan’s elongated eye roll through the line.  
  
_“I said, you have to get on the video chat - they’re already halfway done with Sehun’s head and you can see Jongin making out with a potted plant in the background.”_  
  
Yifan only stares at the brown sludge covering his fingers (that he’s pretty sure is cooling and hardening into some indestructible herbal-cinnamon exoskeleton).  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
_“Why?”_  
  
Yifan gapes at himself in the mirror.  
  
“I’m...I’m not decent.”  
  
_“...Are you fucking trying those do-it-yourself Pinterest skincare remedies again?”_  
  
Yifan sputters, but can’t bring himself to retort Luhan’s statement. (He blames it partly on the fact that it’s more-or-less the truth and partly on the fact that the hardened mask on his face has reduced the mobility of his lips.)  
  
_“I fucking swear to god Yifan, you’re like the 42nd richest man in China, your pretentiously vast collection of professional skincare products probably rivals Kyungsoo’s manga action figure collection that he keeps stashed underneath Jongin’s bed, and yet you STILL insist on trying those homemade recipes that random whackjobs have uploaded to the internet-”_  
  
“Zitao said he found one that works! When’s the last time you've seen Zitao get a whitehead?!”  
  
_“Honey, Zitao has acne patches and a team of professional makeup artists. So do you.”_  
  
Yifan frowns and nudges the phone slightly farther away from him with his big toe, as if that would cast any effect Luhan’s condescending tone cutting through the speaker.  
  
_“And plus, Zitao was also the one that managed to convince you that you’d broken his iPad so you’d go out and buy him a new one. All he did was change the system language to Hebrew.”_  
  
“...I’m hanging up now, Luhan.”  
  
_“Wait, are you gonna come online though? Chanyeol really wants to say hi!”_  
  
“Chanyeol just wants me to send him more lives on Candy Crush.”  
  
_“...He said he’ll do your laundry for a week.”_  
  
“We don't live together anymore, Luhan. We’re not even on the same landmass.”  
  
_“He said he’ll buy your new album.”_  
  
“I don't have an album.”  
  
_“He said he’ll buy your new album when you decide to make one.”_  
  
“Would the managers even let him buy a copy?” Yifan squawks. “Would they even sell it over there?!”  
  
_“He said he’s willing to illegally get his hands on a copy of Wu Yifan’s future debut solo album.”_  
  
“...”  
  
_“He really wants those fucking lives, Yifan.”_  
  
“...Fine. Tell him I said fine.”  
  
_"...He says thanks and is asking if you want to gift him some gems while you're in a such a giving mood.”_  
  
“...”  
  
_“Yifan?”_  
  
“Tell Korea’s heartthrob to pay for his own goddamn gems with Junmyeon’s black card if he has to. I'm going to hang up now, Luhan. Goodnight.”  
  
_“See you, Yifan. And P.S., you should consider trying to scrub off whatever you've dunked your head into before it hardens permanently and you're stuck with that bitchface forever-”_  
  
“ _GOODNIGHT_ , Luhan.”  
  
_“-HEY I just realized that you probably look like the human embodiment of a cake-pop right now because you’re hairless and your head is all round and you're coated in some sort of sticky stuff, like chocolate - OOH I WONDER IF YIXING IS INTO THAT TYPE OF STUFF-”_  
  
Yifan jabs at the red button with his pinky and hauls himself off to the shower, thinking about how if he were to be any form of dessert, he would _most definitely not_ be a _cake-pop_. He’d be a crepe instead. Long, warm, and aesthetically pleasing. And plus, Yixing likes crepes, so there is no doubt that Yifan would most definitely be a crepe.  
  
\-----  
  
When Yifan emerges from the bathroom a short while later, skin freed from its proverbial cinnamon prison, he learns that, currently, Jongdae and Baekhyun have found themselves in a girl group sing-off on top of the coffee table, Jongin has kicked Kyungsoo out of his room in favor of cuddling the potted plant to sleep, and Sehun’s hair is now a flattering shade of mustard green.  
  
When Zitao and Chanyeol start some unspoken war of who can send more laughing emojis to the chat in response to the situation, Yifan knows it’s time to set his phone aside for the night.  
  
He settles himself in bed, back against the headrest, pulling the duvet up to his waist and curling his toes in the sheets. It’s late October, and although his hotel room hasn’t become the Arctic Circle yet, the thermostat isn’t doing a very good job of preventing that. He reaches for his laptop and rests it on his thighs, opening the lid with a sleepy sigh.  
  
As the screen wakes, momentarily blinding his eyes, Yifan thinks about how silly Luhan’s accusation from earlier was. _Pinterest_ , he snorts to himself. Everyone knows that the best beauty remedies come from YouTube.  
  
Yifan mouses the cursor past the bookmarks bar on his screen _(“With the number of Yixing fansites you have saved there, you might as well just say you own a_ Yixing _bar and start your own fancafe!” Zitao had teased him when they had last met between schedules. Yifan had no qualms in that moment about taking one of Zitao’s disposable chopsticks and snapping it in half across the table.)_ to close the tab that was open. A another tab opens in its place, wielding a YouTube video from a different beauty guru. Yifan sighs, hovering his cursor over the play button before pressing down.  
  
He forces his neck to relax against the pillows as he's greeted by a sunny, bottle-blonde girl in the player window, talking about how she’s going to teach everyone watching how to make their own cucumber and cassava root scrub. Her chirpy voice dulls to a low din in Yifan’s ears, and his eyelids droop against his cheekbones. He lets out a yawn, eyes floating over to the clock on the bedside table. It’s only 10:00PM.  
  
There were many nights Yifan would be quite animated at this hour, texting Yixing in his hotel bed until the sun came up. Sometimes, he would even video call him, propping his phone sideways on the pillow next to him so it would be like Yixing was lying right beside him. Yixing would laugh at something dumb Yifan said (or just because he was _Yifan_ and therefore he is always dumb and worthy of being laughed at), and the cadences of Yixing’s voice would flow through the speaker and nestle in Yifan’s eardrums like they had always belonged there. And then Yifan would have the irrepressible urge to reach through the screen and pull the boy on the other side close to him, so that he could feel the tip of Yixing’s nose against his chest and his breath on his skin. How he wished he could lie entwined with Yixing underneath the covers until dusk turned into dawn, until the morning crept in lazily and Yifan could pepper Yixing’s forehead with kisses to wake him up. Of course, rarely did Yifan get the chance to do that, so he settled for gently stroking the dimpled face on the glass screen with his fingertips (and subsequently ending the call on accident with his giant yaoi thumb).  
  
Lately, Yixing’s been too busy to check in with Yifan that often, much less call him. And Yifan accepts that. He knows not to keep Yixing up later than needed most nights. He knows Yixing is tired. He understands the tug of war Yixing is in right now, and so he knows not to push, because Yixing would, in turn, push himself to his own ends trying to make other ends meet.  
  
That doesn’t make Yifan miss Yixing any less, though.  
  
Yifan ends up muting the video, exhaling languidly as his body fights to stay awake. The brightness of his computer screen starts to become more of a nuisance to his brain than it is comforting, and it is then that he deems he’d be better off asleep than awake any longer. His eyes follow the cursor as it navigates to the red “X” in the corner, passing across the link to a video in the sidebar entitled _“151007 Yixing (EXO LAY) Birthday Party - MYM”._  
  
Yifan’s eyes snap back to the video.  
  
He sits up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes to focus on the small box that beckons him out of his sleepy haze. He can barely make out a figure he’s been aching to see, to touch, to feel, in the video still. Without much thought, he brings the cursor back down to the video link. He gulps and presses down on the clicker.  
  
Now, Yifan would never admit it out loud (he would probably be the target of an international scandal if the press ever caught wind of it) (or, at the very least, the target of Jongdae’s goading in the group chat), but Yifan may or may not have a (bad) habit of watching Yixing fancams in his spare time. Every concert, every fanmeet, every press conference, Yifan tries to see all of them. He’s pretty sure he has record of every single Yixing fansite to ever come into existence lingering somewhere in his browser cache. (Yifan calls it being a supportive boyfriend. Luhan calls it a mixture of being whipped and being like an obsessive sixteen-year-old sasaeng.) Either way, it would probably explain why there are Yixing fancams randomly popping up in the sidebar. Yifan doesn’t question it much.  
  
The video loads. The screen is black for the first few seconds as the music starts. Yifan briefly thinks to himself that it’s a fairly good beat, and then the lights come on to illuminate a familiar slender frame, donning a crisp white shirt and fitted black slacks and all further thoughts about anything but the boy displayed on the screen flees his mind. Yifan feels his heart tighten within his chest as the figure took a few steps forward on the stage. How he longs to watch Yixing perform again live, to be able to see that lithe form move before him in the flesh. Yifan thinks that being able to see Yixing dance in person is a blessing he lost far too soon.  
  
The backup dancers run into frame and they all break out into a collective dance. The crowd screams wildly when Yixing gyrates his lips, and Yifan chuckles. His boyfriend looks so boyish in his untucked shirt, and Yifan finds it adorable. His lips settle into a gentle smile on his face.  
  
Yixing begins to sing then, his voice mellifluous and sweet. Yifan continues to smile at the screen up until the boy breaks out into a smooth body roll with his hands interlaced, and then the amused grin Yifan had on his face falls off. He feels his pulse start to quicken underneath his skin as Yixing simpers at the audience, his natural charm exuding from his lean frame.  
  
As Yixing continues to dance nimbly, busting into a few hip thrusts here and there, Yifan feels his mouth going dry. He mentally curses the black fog that ebbs onto the stage, partially obscuring Yixing from view. As the chorus hits, Yixing and his dancers break out into a faster-paced choreography. Yifan stares at the screen, mesmerized as Yixing’s fingers travel down the plane of his body. His boyfriend always looked nice, but in this video he was fitted to kill. Yixing didn’t just look good - he looked _good_ good.  
  
The very moment Yifan manages to lose the bit of composure he had left is when Yixing beckons at the audience with his finger before spinning around on his knees to grind against the ground a few times. (Judging by the shrieking that cuts through his speakers, everyone else had lost their cool too.) Yifan actually feels his jaw unhinge and hang idly in the air.  
  
Yixing continues his ministrations, a knowing smirk breaking out on his (stupid and annoyingly attractive) face. It stays there as he enters the second verse, and there’s a part of Yifan’s brain that’s spitting out all the swear words he can think of in four different languages. He doesn’t even realize that he’s leaning forward and his breathing has become shallow.  
  
Yifan finds himself actually cursing the person who invented fog machines out loud in his bedroom, because the blue smoke from before seems to have grown in intensity for the sole purpose of blocking Yifan’s view of Yixing. As the song enters the reprise, Yifan’s eyes meld to the screen, and his mouth begins to salivate. He feels an all-too-familiar thrumming in the pit of his stomach, and his hands unconsciously find their way to rest against the (tent in the) front of his pants. He watches Yixing’s hips move so fluidly across the air and against the stage, teasing him to no end through a pane of cold glass, and suddenly Yifan wants nothing more than to have Yixing and his _fucking perfect body_ to himself behind closed doors so he can properly ravage the boy he’s been missing for far too long.  
  
Yifan’s breaking point comes when the song hits a dance break. The lights go off for a few beats, and when they come on again, Yixing is soloing in a pool of water with a bunch of fairy lights revolving around him. He looks almost ethereal, and Yifan becomes enraptured in his beauty. And then Yixing does another body roll against the floor, _in the fucking pool of water_ , soaking himself completely and at that point Yifan just groans (half for his libido, half in annoyance because _goddammit Yixing_ ) because now he has no choice but to shove his hands in his pants and wrap his hands around a cock that he’d much rather be a certain someone else’s.  
  
Curse his attractive boyfriend. Curse Zhang Yixing. Curse everything.  
  
(But mostly, curse the heavens for creating someone as perfect as Zhang Yixing for Wu Yifan, only to have them be separated for most days of the year.)  
  
\-----  
  
The next time Yifan sees Luhan is on New Year’s Day, when both of their respective game shows are scheduled to film the same variety show as a joint feature. Yifan didn’t particularly ask to ring in the new year with snide commentary about the “peach fuzz” growing on his head, so when Luhan opens his mouth to reflect on how the coarse texture of the ladybug suits reminds him of the texture of Yifan’s head, Yifan hits Luhan repeatedly with a half-empty water bottle off-camera.  
  
They’re waiting backstage in the dressing rooms as the stage set is switched out. Luhan had barged into Yifan’s room a while ago, announcing that his phone had died and _therefore_ , it is necessary that they use Yifan’s phone to take a commemorative selca to send to the group chat. Yifan rolls his eyes but positions his arm anyways and Luhan curls up against Yifan’s side. Afterwards, Luhan reserves himself the right to caption the picture, snatching Yifan’s phone from his hands with a calculated jump before plopping himself down onto the couch. He brings his legs up to lay sideways across its width, typing away excitedly with the corners of his mouth upturned in a grin.  
  
After about seven minutes of observing Luhan fiddle with his phone in silence, Yifan frowns.  
  
“Did you send the picture yet?” Yifan asks from where he’s resting against the vanity. “It shouldn’t take this long to caption something. I don’t think they want to hear an entire essay about how much you love lamb soup, if that’s what you’re writing.”  
  
“Oh, I sent the picture a while ago,” Luhan responds without looking up. “Only Chanyeol and Kyungsoo have replied though.”  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
“Kyungsoo replied with an upside-down smiley emoji, and Chanyeol says you need to shave after you send him some more coins on Crossy Road in retribution for ‘looking out for the state of your appearance and overall wellbeing’.”  
  
Yifan’s face furrows, bringing his hand up to feel his upper lip. He’s always been conscious of his grooming habits, shaving included. If he had been meticulous in maintaining his egghead for several months prior, he fails to see how he could miss any hair growing on his actual face.  
  
“What did you caption the picture?” Yifan asks out of curiousity, hand moving to check over his chin now.  
  
_“小鹿和小兔,”_ Luhan chirps.  
  
Yifan’s face contorts. “ _Xiao Lu and Xiao Tu?_ Why rabbit? Since when am I a rab-”  
  
The answer to Yifan’s question becomes clear to him when he finds Luhan’s eyes transfixed on the top of his scalp with a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Yifan picks up a magazine sitting on top of the vanity and hurls it at Luhan’s face.  
  
“Screw you, Luhan,” Yifan bites. “‘Rabbit’ and ‘bald’ don’t even _sound_ the same. And I’m not even bald anymore! Do you see this hair?”  
  
“Hold on, let me just get out my microscope-”  
  
Yifan chucks a can of hairspray next.  
  
“If you’re done, can I have my phone back?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“What are you doing on my phone, Luhan?”  
  
“Going through your stuff,” Luhan declares shamelessly.  
  
“That’s an invasion of privacy. There could be sensitive personal information on that phone. I should sue you.”  
  
“Oh please, I already have your phone number and apartment number, dumbass. And I’ve seen your dick like 170 times in the dorms, there’s nothing sensitive or personal regarding you anymore,” Luhan clicks his tongue. “Plus, I think you’ve filed enough lawsuits recently anyways.”  
  
Luhan’s hands shoot up in surrender when Yifan yanks the cord to the curling iron out of the power socket and hikes it back in preparation. Despite all of the color draining from his face for a good ten seconds, Luhan still doesn’t return Yifan’s phone to him.  
  
“Why do you take so many selcas?” Luhan snorts.  
  
“Why do you use so many cutesy emojis whenever Minseok is online?” Yifan counters. “Are you done snooping through my phone yet?”  
  
“Just one more question.” Luhan swings his legs down from where they’re propped, sitting properly on the couch and leaning forward slightly. Yifan stares at Luhan in waiting.  
  
“Why do you have all these MYM fancams from Yixing’s birthday party open on your phone browser?”  
  
Yifan tenses and feels all of the blood escape from his extremities.  
  
“Like seriously, you have like _fifteen_ of these things open, where the hell did you find all of these anyways-”  
  
Alarm bells go off in Yifan’s brain, and his first instinct is to _control the situation_ (as in, _murder Luhan_ ), so he attempts to take a giant lunge forward to grab for his phone, but his brain apparently didn’t communicate well with the rest of his body (specifically his giraffe legs) a millisecond ago and he finds himself tripping over his own ankle and landing face first on the carpet at Luhan’s sneakers.  
  
Yifan hears the tell-tale sound of the camera shutter on his phone going off, followed by the clacking of his own keyboard. When he peels his head off the ground, Luhan is grinning maniacally again, trying to suppress his laughter. Yifan dubs the situation too far out of his reach for him to pacify, so he opts to shove his nose back in the carpet and let out a pained groan.  
  
Luhan strokes the back of Yifan’s head with the tip of his shoe.  
  
“There there, don’t cry,” Luhan coos. “I won’t tell anyone else about your little porn stash there-”  
  
“It’s not _porn_ , Luhan,” Yifan snaps into the carpet. He hears Luhan snort from above.  
  
“Yeah, and when Zitao saw those previews of soaked Sehun in the white button up from ‘Baby Don’t Cry’ live, he didn’t think it was porn either. I’m pretty sure he ordered an entire photobook of pictures just from those stages and keeps it in his bathroom.”  
  
Yifan grimaces into the floor. Eventually, he hears the sound of something hitting the ground near his head. He turns his head to see his phone resting beside him on the carpet. Yifan cranes his neck back to look up at Luhan, standing over him with that grin returning to his face.  
  
“You know, he did another performance of MYM.”  
  
Yifan makes a noise of keen interest that he tries to school into a passive grunt, but he fails and it comes out like a prepubescent Li Jiaheng’s voice crack. Luhan seems to get the gist of it either way.  
  
“Yeah, it was broadcasted yesterday for new year’s. I’ll text you the link when I get back to my hotel. Or maybe I’ll just post it in the group chat,” Luhan contemplates. “I’m sure all of us will be excited to watch our little Yixing go. Of course, you’ll probably get excited in an entirely different way, but I’ll leave that to you and that little mental diary you probably keep to confess all of your hormonal teenage compassions over our little lamb child.”  
  
Yifan is rendered speechless, neck craned at an awkward angle as he gapes at Luhan with his mouth open dumbly.  
  
“We should get going,” Luhan singsongs before stepping away. His snickers are the last thing resounding in Yifan’s ears before he hears the door close behind him. With Luhan gone, Yifan replants his face into the carpet for a few more moments, as if trying to forcefully ground all of his pent-up negative energy into the earth. He learned about something like that in his high school physics class in his past life.  
  
(He vaguely recalls something about the law of property of conservation of the universe-thingy, and since Yifan is matter in the universe, then all of the subsequent laws declared by the all-mighty-and-powerful deities of physics must, therefore, apply to him. For example, as demonstrated earlier, the law of gravity.)  
  
\-----  
  
Later, Yifan thinks the all-mighty-and-powerful deities of physics that dictated all the laws of the universe should have included one about Luhan that would explain, definitively, why he was born with such a large percent composition of _pure shitface._  
  
Yifan only really unlocked his phone to check it after he left the noodle place where he had dinner with Luhan after filming. He had wished Luhan all the best and even gave him a hug on the curb before the latter got into his car. (Of course, this was all _before_ Yifan became aware of the disastrous deeds Luhan had wreaked on his personal property.)  
  
As Luhan’s car departs down the road and disappears around the corner, Yifan wonders about the next time he’ll get to see Luhan. There’s a small part of him that hopes it to be soon, although he’d never admit it outwardly.  
  
And then Yifan unlocks his phone, still open to the group chat from Luhan’s antics from earlier. He’s about to exit out when his eyes scan over the messages from the others. His shoulders tense up on reflex.  
  
**세훈:** wow hyung didnt think you were the porn type lol ;))  
  
**종인:** omg does yixing-hyung know abt this?!?!!  
  
**子韬:** that angle on the floor makes u look even more bald than u already r, ge,  
  
**찬열:** wait they sell porn in china  
  
**종대:** ur so fucking dumb chanyeol i stg if u weren’t an idol u’d be selling fried food from the back of a truck on the street and giving ppl diabetes  
  
**종대:** not just from the food but also how greasy u r in general  
  
Yifan thumbs upwards past the banter until he reaches the messages Luhan sent earlier from his phone. He saw the selca they took together, the picture of Yifan faceplanted on the ground (Zitao was right, that angle really did thin his hair out), but lying underneath those was a screenshot of Yifan’s browser history from his phone. Clearly listed, despite that one miscellaneous Baidu search from when Yifan had a strong craving for delivery fried chicken, were all of the MYM fancams that Yifan had been watching obsessively whenever he had a free moment (or whenever he missed Yixing too much and wanted to get off to the sight of him in that fitted white shirt).  
  
Yifan’s face reddens as he stood there on the side of the street. Partially from the January cold, partially from his own mortification, and partially because he is definitely never going to agree to see Luhan on his own will again. As his own car pulls around the corner and stops before him, he silently prays that Yixing still keeps up his habit of not checking the group chat on a regular basis. He then manages to trip off the curb into the backseat upholstery of the car.  
  
He curses Luhan for the dissolution of his life.

\-----

In the middle of February, Yifan finds himself staring into a mirror, scrutinizing his own reflection. He stares at his waist for a good long while, wondering if the grey suit jacket he’d put on over his black button up is ruining the natural taper of his physique. He ends up shrugging it off and chucking it somewhere, wiping off some of the sweat that had accumulated on his palms on his slacks.  
  
He focuses on his face next. His skin is clear, not a discrepancy in sight, but he wonders briefly if he should have put on eyeliner or something to make him look more desireable. He waves the thought off, because, in theory, his guest should _still_ want him even if he was sporting those less-than-aesthetically pleasing braids and bucket hat from his last music video shoot; and, additionally, Yifan couldn’t remember the last time he picked up a stick of kohl anyways. He didn’t want to risk injuring his corneas and spending his Valentine’s Day in the hospital.  
  
Which brings Yifan to the top of his head. His hair was returning, sure enough, but still, it was nowhere near the luscious extravagance that once resided there. Yifan sighs and runs his fingers across his scalp and lifts his hand away, watching as the cropped strands fall limply back to where they had been gelled into place.  
  
Yifan, admittedly, is quite anxious. His eyes flit back and forth between the calendar hanging on the wall and the clock above it. He pulls his phone out to reassure himself of the date and time, as if he didn't believe what the wall was telling him. His palms become sweaty again, the cold aluminum chilling his grip. It’s 9:30PM. He should be here any minute now.  
  
Yifan’s head drifts to the full-length glass window facing opposite from the bed. The view is breathtaking, the crests of the Shanghai skyline illuminated by its bustling nightlife. As couples scurry up and down the streets hand-in-hand, celebrating the youth of the hour, Yifan stands alone in the center of the penthouse suite he had booked for tonight’s activities.  
  
He was pacing earlier, but when he had stumbled walking up the two steps that led from the main area of the suite to where the bed was and barely caught himself with his hands, he figured it was best if he moved as little as possible. He couldn’t trust himself. His collectedness for the day had already been sabotaged when the first thing he had woken up to was a _(shirtless)_ mirror selfie from his boyfriend, captioned _“happy valentine’s day, 蛋头宝宝. see you tonight ~”_. Yifan’s anticipation paired with his lack of coordination had threatened to foil him since.  
  
They were both in Shanghai, which both excites and terrifies Yifan. Excites, because the thought of being reunited with his beloved after many months of many miles keeping them apart is what had given Yifan a bounce in his step which he’d carried for the whole day. But, what if it was that same distance that had made the object of all of his affections realize that Yifan wasn’t worth the late nights, the delayed texts, the missed calls, the constant longing? What if he opens the door tonight, only to have the person he has devoted all of his love to and has missed _so fucking much_ become disappointed with what he sees before him?  
  
In the midst of his diving off of a platform into an endless vortex of worry and self loathing, Yifan almost doesn't hear the knock on the door. He lets out a small squeak (which he will vehemently deny ever happened) and gives himself another once-over in the mirror before running to face his court of conscience. He yanks the door open.  
  
Met with those chocolate brown eyes that no shitty iPhone Facetime camera can do justice, Yifan feels his knees start to buckle.  
  
It is those same eyes that scan up and down Yifan’s body wordlessly before returning his gaze. Yifan can only gape at the boy in front of him as the silence starts to choke the oxygen out of his system. He thinks he’s about to reach the point where he needs to ask his guest to call him an ambulance or press his _LifeAlert_ switch or something when the boy standing there finally opens his mouth.  
  
“You’ve gained weight,” is all Yixing says before slipping past Yifan, entering the suite. Yifan’s eyes are about to fall out of his head as his attention follows Yixing, the door escaping his grip and the closing shut behind them.  
  
Yixing wanders into the center of the apartment, shucking his jacket off and tossing it over the back of an armchair, revealing a crisp white button up and black skinny jeans. Yifan feels his tongue making preparations to grow wings and depart from his mouth as well.  
  
Yixing turns around then, staring at Yifan. His brown hair has been slightly dishevelled by the winter wind, but his face is still pale and smooth and alluring as always. His frame is still svelte and small enough for Yifan to want to run over and pick up in a spinning hug, but it is then that Yixing’s words choose to register in Yifan’s temporal lobe, and he frowns, opening his mouth to retort.  
  
But then, it’s as if Yixing (due to his magical _Yixing_ -ness) is able to sense the change in the air, and then it’s he who’s taking the initiative, running over to Yifan and enveloping him in a tight hug. He presses a warm kiss to Yifan’s lips before pulling back, eyes meeting and Yixing’s dimple making its debut appearance for the night.  
  
“Don’t worry. It’s cute. I like it,” Yixing breathes out, and immediately the all of the tension Yifan’s body had been holding releases itself as he recaptures Yixing’s soft lips with his over and over and over again. They stay like that for a long while, Yixing on his tippy-toes and Yifan’s arms wrapped around a slender waist.  
  
Yifan pulls back eventually to properly look at the beauty that is his Yixing, nestled comfortably in his arms. His heart swells at the sight.  
  
“ _God_ , I missed you _so_ much.” Yifan leans forward to press a succession of light kisses to Yixing’s lips, and Yixing laughs in between them.  
  
“I missed you too, _dantou_ , but I’m also very hungry and if you don’t let me go I’ll break up with you just so I can eat.”  
  
When Yifan’s arms automatically release Yixing and whip back to his sides, Yixing giggles at the cuteness. He reaches up to press one last kiss against Yifan’s cheek before striding away to the kitchenette, firing up some rant about airplane food and the effects it has rendered on his digestive system.  
  
Yifan can only follow him, ears drawn to every single word. He’d follow Yixing to the ends of the earth just to hear him talk about the history of two-ply toilet paper. He wouldn’t care.  
  
Trust Zhang Yixing to make him whipped beyond repair.  
  
\-----  
  
They find themselves curled up against each other in bed a little while later. Bare toes touching, Yixing’s head settled against Yifan’s chest, absorbing each other’s warmth as they rest above the covers. They couldn’t risk going out to eat, the chance of them being seen together posing too much of a danger to both of their careers, so they had decided to order in. They were currently watching some movie playing on television as they waited for the food to arrive.  
  
On top of the nightstand, both of their phones begin to jump excitedly. Yifan and Yixing share a collective groan.  
  
“Do you want to check it?” Yixing mumbles, burying his face further into the fabric of Yifan’s shirt.  
  
“No. My phone has been going off all day because of them. My battery is about to die.”  
  
“They probably just want a picture of us together.”  
  
Yifan groans. “Don’t they have their own hot dates to be entertaining? Or you know, tubs of Vaseline?”  
  
“It’s probably just Jongdae and Zitao looking for attention by blowing up everyone’s phones,” Yixing speculates. “Jongin and Kyungsoo are most likely having dinner, Minseok and Luhan are on a Skype date, Chanyeol’s probably out drinking himself into a coma because he _still_ hasn’t confessed to Baekhyun, Junmyeon’s probably with him to prevent that, and Sehun...well, Vaseline sounds like a pretty good guess.”  
  
Yifan chuckles, pulling Yixing closer until his hip is lying across Yifan’s middle, one hand carding through Yixing’s hair.  
  
“If anything, I’ll use my phone to leave a complaint with the delivery place.” Yifan glances over at clock. “It’s been like, 45 minutes.”  
  
“They’re probably not going to make it here anytime soon. It’s Valentine’s Day. Restaurants are busy and traffic’s a nightmare because everyone’s out.” Yixing sighs. “Why don’t we just order room service?”  
  
Yifan nods in agreement and Yixing, after pressing a kiss the center of Yifan’s eyebrows, raises himself from his hold, already missing the comforting warmth as he shuffles off the bed.  
  
“Do you know where the menu is?” Yixing asks, tugging on the ends of his shirt to straighten out the creases.  
  
“Check in the parlor or something,” Yifan hums, reclining further onto the bed. “The phone probably somewhere out there too.”  
  
Yifan calls out a final _“Make sure you order dessert!”_ as Yixing steps away from the bedroom area, a smile stretching over his face. He wanders over to a small parlor area, where there’s a few chairs set up around a coffee table. Yixing claps his hands together in delight when he sees the menu sitting on the table next to Yifan’s laptop, picking it up as he plops himself down on a cushiony armchair.  
  
He settles on a few platters of meat (pork for him, chicken for Yifan, because chicken is _indeed_ his style), some fried noodles, and a chocolate tiramisu cake for dessert. He reaches over to grab the phone from the receiver, the dial tone buzzing in his ear, but then it occurs to Yixing that he doesn’t actually know the extension down to room service.  
  
He glances over the menu a few times, frantically searching for any numbers printed on the placard, but the text is small and Yixing has never been good with finding things even if they were right in front of him. ( _Go Fighting!_ acts as a standing testament to that.)  
  
It is then that Yixing’s eyes rest on Yifan’s laptop on the coffee table. He figures that the hotel would probably have the information posted somewhere on their website. Yixing sends a quick glance over to the bedroom area before snatching the computer off of the table and settling it in his lap.  
  
A browser window greets Yixing when he opens the lid, mostly email and other things related to Yifan’s profession opened in the tabs. He thumbs the cursor down to the bottom of the screen to open a new window, but when he hovers over the icon in the dock, he finds himself pausing.  
  
There were several browser windows open on Yifan’s computer. There was the one that Yixing was currently on, a few others open to newsites and Weibo, but the one that really catches his eye is the one open to a YouTube page. Specifically, a fancam from Yixing’s birthday fanmeet a few months back.  
  
Yixing finds himself clicking over to the window. He smiles fondly for a few seconds, thinking of how his boyfriend must have put a lot of effort into keeping up with Yixing’s career. But then, his eyes flicker across the tabs listed at the top, and Yixing’s eyebrows fall into a furrow.  
  
Slowly, Yixing clicks through each of the tabs, mouth dropping open in the process. They’re _all_ fancams of the same performance from Yixing’s birthday party, each of them showcasing him from a different view or angle.  
  
When Yixing reaches the last tab open, a fancam taken from his new year’s broadcast, paused right on his grinding move during MYM, he gasps. It suddenly hits him - Yifan has been _hoarding_ all of these videos, collecting them, _watching_ them - and Yixing’s head starts to spin with ideas and his gut churns in a heated frenzy but before he can dwell on anything any further he hears padded footsteps approaching from behind. He slams the lid shut and haphazardly tosses the computer back onto the coffee table, blood rushing in his fingertips.  
  
“Did you order yet?” Yifan asks, scratching his head and draping himself over Yixing from behind, nuzzling his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around his chest.  
  
“Yeah,” Yixing lies, staring straight ahead at the wall.  
  
Yifan hums. “Then come back to bed. I’m cold and you’re my personal heater.”  
  
Yixing can’t bring himself to find an appropriate remark when he feels Yifan pressing soft kisses to the nape of his neck. He shudders underneath the contact, body relaxing, but his brain suddenly gets an idea, and the temptation reaches his mouth before he can think twice.  
  
_“你的头发味道真的好美,”_ Yixing murmurs breathily, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He feels Yifan tense, stopping in his love bites and pulling back an inch.  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
A sly smile creeps onto Yixing’s face, but he schools his expression into one of innocence.  
  
“I said that your hair smells really nice,” he says nonchalantly, turning around to peck Yifan on the nose. “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”  
  
Yixing stands and strides past Yifan. He considers his experiment a success when he feels Yifan’s dumbfounded eyes boring into the back of his shoulder blades, but he conceals his victory dance and reaches back to interlace his fingers with Yifan’s, leading him back towards bed.  
  
\-----  
  
Their original dinner order arrives, and they opt to feed each other in bed rather than dining in the kitchenette. Yixing silently thanks God for giving Yifan terrible observation skills, for the latter never asks about the mysterious lack of room service dessert. Even if Yifan _had_ noticed, Yixing was pretty sure he’d made him forget just from the way he wrapped his tongue around Yifan’s chopsticks every time he was fed a piece of beef.  
  
In their post-dinner haze, Yixing had made his way into Yifan’s lap, and they took the time to just bask in each other, sharing slow, unrushed kisses. Moments like these were so _rare_ , when the distance between their bodies was reduced from thousands of miles to a few inches, if any at all. It was not hot; there was no fire begging to be quenched in those languid minutes. Instead, it was warm; warm enough for their bodies to meld together as they reunited, truly and wholly, for one night after many spent apart.  
  
And then of course, Yifan, in true _Yifan_ fashion, ends up ruining the moment by mumbling that he has to use the bathroom against Yixing’s upper lip. Yixing jokingly rolls his eyes before releasing his boyfriend with a peck on the forehead.  
  
In his absence, Yixing drifts over to the window. The colorful lights flicker in his face through the pane of glass, stretching out for miles and miles before his eyes. It was awe-inspiring, and Yixing was enraptured. But, in all truth, what proved to be even more stunning than the view from outside was simply the man who had returned from his trip to the bathroom and was currently sitting back in the center of the bed.  
  
Yixing watches Yifan’s eyebrows, furrowed together as he fiddled with his phone. He lets his eyes travel down the smooth plane of Yifan’s face, and then further down his defined torso, ending at his long, flawless legs. It mystified Yixing, how he was lucky enough to land his giant oaf of a boyfriend, and even more so how they were able to make it last for so long, their professional lives having forked off into two separate roads many years prior. Their hearts remained yearning to each other, across any stage or cityscape or ocean or legality. If there was any part of Yifan he could still have, Yixing would fight for it until his last dying breath.  
  
Yixing sighs as he looks at his beloved, silently thanking the heavens that Yifan is still his, as he will always be Yifan’s.  
  
Too lost in his own thoughts, Yixing barely notices the soft singing emanating from Yifan on the bed. His mouth naturally forms into a grin; Yixing finds Yifan’s singing voice quite endearing, and he wishes the boy would sing more often.  
  
However, it takes a few moments more for his ears to properly register the lyrics that were flowing out of Yifan’s mouth, and then Yixing tenses upon the realization.  
  
_Yifan was singing his goddamn song._  
  
_“全身湿透也一直在回味...”_ Yifan mumbles softly, completely oblivious to the fact that he has an audience. Yixing smirks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the glass.  
  
_He just makes it too easy sometimes._  
  
_“你是我 baby-”_ Yifan hums absentmindedly.  
  
_“-你让我 crazy,”_ Yixing finishes, eyes trained on Yifan, a certain intensity flickering beneath them.  
  
Yifan’s head whips up to stare at Yixing, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.  
  
“Uh, I, well, I-” he stutters adorably, as if he's committed a crime. Yixing only chuckles and takes a few steps towards the bed.  
  
“So, I assume you've heard my song, then?” Yixing asks, thumbs looping through the belt loops of his jeans.  
  
Yifan coughs. “Well, uh, I guess, uh, _yeah_ \- yeah I've heard it once or twice.” He sits up a little straighter, eyes centered solely on Yixing, phone having been returned to the bedside table and subsequently forgotten.  
  
“Do you like my song, Yifan?” Yixing teases, dragging his hands up the plane of his long, long torso to “straighten” the collar of his white shirt.  
  
Yifan’s eyes follow Yixing’s fingers, feeling his throat constricting as they pass across his lean abdominals and pressed pectorals. He gulps.  
  
“Uh, yeah, _yes_ \- I mean, it has a pretty nice beat and the lyrics are, uh... _good-_ ” Yifan’s hand finds its way to the back of his neck, eyes flickering down sheepishly.  
  
Yixing hums and nods, turning on his heel and starting to pace in a different direction. His hands remain at the collar of his shirt as he inhales and opens his mouth.  
  
_“Baby your gentle voice…”_ He starts to sing softly, and Yifan’s joints threaten to fail him immediately, because _oh my god Yixing singing the goddamn song._  
  
_“Opens up my entire heart…_ ” Yixing punctuates the last few words with pops of his buttons, revealing glimpses of a milky chest. Yifan’s mouth goes dry.  
  
_“Naked, not a bit is covered…”_ Yixing turns on his heel and paces in the other direction. _“I came in with my defenses down…”_ His nimble fingers undo the rest of his buttons, and the shirt hangs loosely off of his frame, smooth upper body fully exposed.  
  
Yifan’s jaw drops open, feeling a heat simmering below his belt. He leans back on his hands, trying to maintain his rapidly depleting composure in the face of Zhang Yixing.  
  
Yixing only simpers and continues with more prowess.  
  
_“Release the hormones…_ ” The button of his jeans and his zipper are next, both being undone with a few clicks and clatters of metal.  
  
_“You say I’m a little dumb…”_ Yixing’s face creeps into a coy smile as he sings, hands moving to slide his jeans down his legs, revealing black silk underwear that clings to his thighs.  
  
_“You helped me out of my loneliness,”_ he steps out of his jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor, hands sliding back up his legs tantalizingly as he returns to a standing position.  
  
_“I have something I want to tell you quietly…”_  
  
Yixing stands facing Yifan in his unbuttoned shirt and underwear. Yifan salivates at the sight, eyes drooping in lust as he leans forward towards his personal undoing.  
  
Just when Yifan takes a half-naked Yixing as a cue to attack, Yixing, _sweet mother of god_ , begins to dance in front of him.  
  
_“Missing you has become a bad habit of mine…”_ Yixing marks his choreography, not dancing with full vigor, but enough to keep Yifan’s attention, paying special focus to the way he undulates his hips. _“I can't be like this no, no, no, no, no…”_  
  
Yixing’s gaze returns to Yifan, eyes meeting as he continues with his next lines.  
  
_“But I’d rather be closely by your side…”_ he sings to Yifan, advancing towards him. He hikes one knee up onto the bed, keeping the other one outstretched behind him, never breaking eye contact with the other as he continues.  
  
_“You tell me no, no, no, no, no…”_ Yixing rolls his body fluidly a few times, grinding against the edge of the bed.  
  
Yifan loses the rest of his resolve at that moment, groaning and springing forward across the bed towards the sexual nymph that waited for him, but is stopped by small hands pushing back against his chest.  
  
_“Missing you, really missing you…”_ Yixing continues sweetly, edging forward on his knees and forcing Yifan back until he’s sitting back and leaning on his hands again.  
  
_“But I still struggle to escape from your palms…”_ he hovers over Yifan, relishing in the desperation he sees behind his boyfriend’s eyes.  
  
_“And when you say tonight at 9:30PM…”_ Yixing lowers himself onto Yifan’s lap, thighs winding and clenching tightly around his hips. His hands come to rest on Yifan’s shoulders before sliding down his upper arm muscles, squeezing ever so slightly.  
  
_“Baby let me fall in deeply, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, no…”_ Yixing utters out with one final breath, panting heavily against his boyfriend’s open lips. His eyes fall closed as he rests his weight against Yifan, and when he opens them again, Yifan is staring at him with a fire unmatched by any inferno.  
  
Yifan attacks then, lips crushing against Yixing’s with force. One of his hands tangles in Yixing’s hair, the other finds its way to one of his ass cheeks. He grips it harshly, eliciting a delicious moan from the other as their lips moved against each other’s passionately.  
  
Yixing’s hands drag across Yifan’s chest, fingers pressing into his skin through the shirt of the fabric, to hastily undo Yifan’s buttons before pushing the black button up off of his shoulders. Yifan returns the favor by slipping Yixing’s unbuttoned shirt off too, grabbing both of the garments and flinging them off to the side.  
  
Their hands roam each other’s bodies, fingers heatedly grazing and pressing upon bare skin, nipping on each other’s swollen lips. Yifan moves to Yixing’s neck then, sucking on the supple flesh enough to leave red marks, driving high-pitched keens out of the latter. His hands work to slide off Yixing’s black briefs, freeing a fully erect member, throbbing and glistening with precum.  
  
Yixing moans, hands lowering to the button of Yifan’s pants, where he nearly tears apart the seam in his rush to get it off. Yifan lifts his legs to help Yixing pull it off all the way, never pausing his love bites on Yixing’s collarbone.  
  
Yixing reaches over for the lube then, yanking open the bedside drawer and feeling around for the small bottle. He nearly drops it on the carpet when Yifan’s tongue makes an appearance, circling around one of Yixing’s nipples, his large hand pressing into the small of his back.  
  
As Yixing returns to straddle Yifan, Yifan takes the lube from him and uncaps it. He squeezes a generous amount onto his fingers, circling the pads a few times before he reaches around to tease a finger around Yixing’s entrance.  
  
Yixing whines, sinking his teeth into Yifan’s shoulder and clutching at Yifan’s arms as his finger presses in. His warm walls clench around the intrusion, sucking it in until Yifan is buried to the knuckle. He ruts against Yifan’s clothed member, making Yifan shudder and groan softly as he adds a second finger. Yixing circles his hips then, trying to draw in Yifan’s fingers as deep inside him as he possibly can.  
  
Yixing actually screams when Yifan inserts a third finger, and Yifan’s other arm wraps around Yixing’s waist to keep him from losing his balance and falling forward from the pleasure. Pumping his fingers a few more times, Yifan pulls his fingers out completely, eliciting a whine from Yixing over his shoulder.  
  
Yixing regains his senses then, tugging down Yifan’s boxers so that his cock springs forward against Yixing’s. Both of them groan at the sensation, the lust rushing through both of their systems and driving them to be closer, as close as they can be before the night is over.  
  
Yixing grabs at Yifan’s cock then, positioning it at his entrance and lowering himself down onto it in a haste. He cries out, ignoring the burn from the sudden stretch. He doesn't care for it, having wanted for his body to be reunited with Yifan’s for far too many nights to wait any longer.  
  
Yifan throws his head back, a deep moan ripping from his throat when he feels Yixing circling his hips, clenching around Yifan’s cock. They're both panting, covered in sweat. Yixing glows underneath the faint lighting flowing in from outside, and Yifan could stare at his raw, naked beauty for the rest of his life.  
  
Yixing lifts himself up an inch and eases himself back down, a whimper escaping his mouth. Slowly, he picks up the pace, fucking himself on Yifan’s cock with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. Yifan starts to meet Yixing’s hips with thrusts of his own, both of them creating a rhythm that couldn't be matched anywhere else.  
  
Yifan’s arm moves to tighten around Yixing’s waist, grounding them both as he drives up into Yixing from below with fervor. Yixing chants Yifan’s name from above, continuing to rock his hips back and forth, creating sensations that both of them had been yearning to feel since they last time they had met.  
  
A particular thrust at a particular angle finds Yixing’s prostate, the loud cries of pleasure ensuing only encouraging Yifan to increase his speed and intensity, pushing up into Yixing’s tight heat as the both chased after their endings.  
  
As Yixing bounces on top of him, Yifan’s mouth attaches to Yixing’s collarbones once once more, leaving more red blotches in its wake. Yixing’s eyes are closed, his head lolling as he moves up and down, both of his hands wound tightly in Yifan’s hair as he pulls him closer, their bodies tangling with each other underneath the night sky.  
  
Their rhythm falters in cleanliness, and Yixing comes with a broken _“Yifan”_ , circling his hips to ride out the waves of his orgasm. Yifan follows soon after, coating Yixing’s insides white, sinking his teeth into his lover’s shoulder to muffle his elongated groan. He pulls back to look at Yixing, to look at the handiwork he has left on his neck and shoulders, at the sheen of sweat covering Yixing’s taut chest, and up at Yixing’s face, where his mouth hung open in a post-high haze.  
  
Yixing’s eyes flutter closed, and he leans forward to rest his forehead against Yifan’s. When he opens them to find a thoroughly debauched and sated Yifan, he smiles in delight. Yifan smiles back at Yixing, and reaches forward once more to kiss Yixing, their lips meeting tenderly. And they stay there for a while, kissing soft and slow, Yixing still fully seated in Yifan’s lap, and Yifan’s arms wound tight around Yixing, holding him there with him.  
  
Nothing could beat this. Nothing could or ever would.  
  
Their bodies fully encompass one another as they come down from their high. All is quiet except for the sounds of their lips sliding and tongues pressing gently, the walls of the bedroom absorbing any and all else.  
  
When Yixing feels Yifan’s dick twitch back to life inside of him, he breaks apart from their kiss to let a soft mewl escape from his throat. He begins to undulate his hips around once more, hoping to insinuate another round, but is taken by surprise when Yifan hoists him up and off his half-hard cock.  
  
Yixing whines in indignation, but is cut off when Yifan presses the bottle of lube into his palm without uttering a single word. Yixing stares at the small bottle, then over at Yifan in incredulity, only to find that the latter is already lying on his back, willing and pliant, patiently awaiting what is about to come.  
  
Yixing closes his fist around the bottle before leaning down to kiss Yifan tenderly, his other hand comes up to grasp at his chin. Yifan reciprocates the kisses, body relaxing underneath Yixing’s weight.  
  
Yixing uncaps the lube and slicks up his fingers, easing one downwards to circle Yifan’s entrance. Yifan momentarily tenses, and Yixing tries to kiss his unease away as he presses the tip of his finger inside.  
  
Yixing pumps slowly, focusing on making Yifan enjoy the sensations he's feeling down below. He crawls up to Yifan’s ear, teasing the skin around it with his lips and tongue. Yifan arches his back off of the bed slightly.  
  
_“你是我 baby,”_ Yixing hums in his ear softly, making Yifan whine from below. Yixing smirks to himself and nips at his earlobe.  
  
_“你让我 crazy,”_ Yixing continues with renewed confidence, picking up the pace down below. He inserts a second finger, and Yifan clenches, starting to rock back onto the two digits on his own.  
  
_“Your tempting eyes have a bit of charm beneath them…”_ Yixing adds his third finger, rubbing Yifan’s shoulder in reassurance. Yifan whimpers, feeling a slight burn that fades into waves of pleasure. His face contorts, eyes squeezing shut and mouth hanging open, and Yixing moves to kiss his neck lovingly.  
  
_“How can I resist, no…”_  
  
Yixing eases his fingers out, reveling in the way that Yifan’s body resists, trying to keep Yixing inside him for longer than needed. He presses one last soft kiss to Yifan’s lips before hovering downwards, leaving a trail of kisses down Yifan’s toned abdomen. Yifan’s skin tingles, and he moans at the sensation, hands grasping at the bedsheets around him.  
  
Yixing lubes up his own cock and positions it at Yifan’s entrance. He glances up once last time at Yifan’s face. Yifan’s forehead is covered in sweat, his cheeks flushed red and panting heavily. He looks so _desperate_ , and when he cranes his neck up to send a nod over Yixing, Yixing’s knees nearly crumble from the anticipation.  
  
He pushes the tip inside, and Yifan pushes his head back into the pillow, a guttural groan echoing from his throat and against the walls. His hands fly up from his sides to brace himself on Yixing’s back as Yixing slides in bit-by-bit, the heat being almost too inviting to him.  
  
When Yixing is buried to the hilt, he closes his eyes, relishing in the way he feels Yifan tighten around his girth. For a few beats, he tries to stay as still as possible, but when he opens his eyes to find Yifan’s blown pupils and swollen lips and chest rising and falling against the bed, Yixing bites back a groan and pulls himself back an inch before driving back in.  
  
The sound Yifan makes is heavenly to his ears, and Yixing knows to quicken his pace, propping himself up with his arms and thrusting his hips in and out of Yifan at a steady rate. Yifan responds with a series of choked out noises, each being cut off by the next, the pleasure rippling through his body in heat waves. His hands drag down Yixing’s back as he gets drilled into from below.  
  
Yixing lowers down to Yifan’s ear once more, their bodies pressing together but never faltering in rhythm.  
  
_“Missing you has become a bad habit of mine…”_ Yixing breathes out huskily into Yifan’s ear. Yifan whines, lolling his head around on the pillow, the assault on all of his senses quickly proving to be too much to handle. He can smell the sweat and musk hanging off of Yixing’s neck, and he's intoxicated all at once.  
  
_“I can't be like this, no, no, no, no, no…”_ Yixing punctuates the end of his line with a few short, staccato thrusts, and Yifan keens, nails digging into Yixing’s shoulder blades, making Yixing intensify his pace.  
  
_“But I’d rather be closely by your side…”_ Yixing pants out, leaning down to attach his lips to Yifan’s neck, licking and sucking at the taut flesh there. Yifan isn't sure whether he should keep his eyes closed or opened, all of the stimulation he’s receiving sending his brain into haywire.  
  
_“You tell me no, no, no, no, no…”_ Yixing makes sure to roll his hips fluidly into Yifan as he utters out the rest of the words. Yifan responds to the serenading with a loud cry of _“Fuck, Yixing”_ , and the clenching around Yixing’s cock signals to him that he’s found Yifan’s sweet spot.  
  
Yixing can tell Yifan is close from the way his body keeps convulsing, and the noises he makes keep growing in volume and frequency. He shifts his weight over to one hand and uses the other to reach down and wrap around Yifan’s leaking cock, pumping while maintaining the pace of his hips.  
  
Yifan comes, head pressing back with a feral, drawn-out groan escaping into the night air. As Yixing continues to pound Yifan through his orgasm, Yifan grabs the back of Yixing’s head and yanks him down, their lips crashing together, and it isn't long before Yixing finishes too, riding out his climax in short thrusts, his moans being swallowed wholly by Yifan.  
  
Yixing props himself up again, hovering over Yifan and staring down at him. They both pant in each other’s faces, sweat covering their bodies. Yifan raises a hand and trails it down Yixing’s cheek and can't help the genuine smile that grows onto his face. He looks absolutely enamored with the boy above him, as Yixing is absolutely enamored with the boy resting below him.  
  
Yixing smiles and leans down as Yifan leans up, their lips meeting again, soft, slow, and unrushed.  
  
\-----  
  
The smooth, sensual sound of his phone ringing from the bedside table is what wakes Yifan the next morning. He lets out a small grunt, reaching over for the device, and vaguely wonders as to why the other half of bed feels so cold.  
  
He groggily jabs at the green button with his index finger.  
  
“What do you want, Luhan?”  
  
_“Have you been in the chat lately?”_ Luhan’s tone is laced with concern, but Yifan is too sleepy to investigate much further.  
  
“No. It's fucking-” Yifan pulls the phone back to glance at the time before pressing it back up to his ear. “-6:26AM. Why the hell are you calling me at 6:26AM? Even Junmyeon isn't awake at 6:26AM.”  
  
Yifan hears a snicker from the other end.  
  
_“Silly Yifan, we all know that Junmyeon isn't awake at 6:26AM because then he’d have to listen to Kyungsoo and Jongin’s morning round.”_ Yifan rolls his eyes.  
  
“So I assume the potted plant thing was sorted, then?” Yifan asks, sitting up slightly, the duvet sliding down, baring his chest to the morning air.  
  
_“It was an amicable separation. They decided it was for the best.”_  
  
Yifan nods, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“Why are you calling me, Luhan?”  
  
_“Oh yeah, that.”_ Luhan clicks his tongue. _“I meant to tell you that, while I do love to see Yixing’s happy selfies this early in the morning, I do not really wish to see Yixing’s happy selfies with what looks like a case of poison ivy on his neck with your literal bare ass framing the background.”_ Yifan hears Luhan grumbling to himself over the line. _“Tell him to put on some clothes, will you? And the same goes for you too, Xiao TuTu.”_  
  
Yifan’s whips his head over to the window where he finds Yixing, who was, indeed, taking selfies in the morning lighting and sending them to the chat.  
  
_“I mean, honestly Yifan, when I said I’ve seen your dick over 170 times in my lifetime, I would have assumed a bright-ish Canadian high school graduate like you would have realized that that also implies I have also seen your buttcrack exactly that many times as well. And while your butt is very shapely and I applaud you for it, I really don't appreciate these unsolicited nudes. I am a taken man. I don’t want to have to report you to the police for sexual harassment, like Yixing probably will in the future when he wakes the fuck up from whatever you’ve poisoned his good tastes with.”_  
  
Yifan watches Yixing pull a peace sign as he snaps another photo. _Cute_ , he thinks to himself, but clears his throat for Luhan’s sake.  
  
“I’ll talk to him.”  
  
_“You better. But, I have to admit, your work on Yixing’s neck was quite thorough, to say the least. So, does that mean he was really into the chocolate thing after all or-”_  
  
Yifan hangs up then, jabbing at the red button with his thumb. He sighs. Same old Luhan, helpful as always. Yifan will have to remember to put salt in his coffee the next time he inevitably sees him.  
  
He sits up fully, eyes resting on his boyfriend across the bedroom. Yixing is pouting, jutting out his bottom lip and widening his eyes adorably at the camera. It’s incredibly endearing to Yifan, and he gets the sudden urge to run over and cocoon his lanky arms around Yixing and shower every square inch of face with kisses upon kisses, enticing him back into bed for a morning of cuddles, giggles, and maybe a round or two squeezed in between.  
  
Yifan wants to do this, and in this moment, he actually _could_ ; but he decides against it in the end, leaning back against the headboard as a lazy grin eases onto his face.  
  
He admires Yixing from afar, thinking that maybe he’d be willing to spend many more nights apart if he could just have a few more mornings like this.  
  
Yifan thinks that Yixing seems to glimmer underneath the sunlight streaming in through the glass, pale skin illuminated as the rays dance across his skin. His eyes settle on Yixing’s eyes, the ones that had charmed Yifan from their first twinkle, to his dimple, the one that Yifan has poked at many times in his life to see if it was actually real, to his long neck and defined collarbones, the ones that Yifan has spent entire nights in the past marking as red as they were now. His eyes travel further downwards, down the outline of Yixing’s uncovered abs, the ones he has the taste of memorized, down past his member, the one portion where Yifan probably should not insert a commentary, coming to rest finally on the curve of Yixing’s _(very, very nice)_ ass, the one Yifan _loves_ and is currently bared right in his line of sight.  
  
Yifan, sighing contentedly, lets his eyes fall shut as he relaxes his body. Yes, Yifan would love to have many, many more mornings like this.  
  
And then, a few beats later, his eyes shoot open, the realization hitting him like someone had just dropped Kyungsoo’s expensive juicer right onto his family jewels.  
  
Yixing’s ass is completely bared to Yifan. Yixing is stark naked.  
  
(And on any other occasion, this would have been a total turn on, if not for the fact that:)  
  
_Zhang Yixing is currently stark naked, standing with his front side facing out of a glass window in the middle of Shanghai._  
  
Yifan’s face shatters, crumbling and falling into a million tiny pieces on the duvet.  
  
“...Yixing?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“...How long have you been standing there?”  
  
“Since I got up about an hour ago. Why?”  
  
“...”  
  
“Yifan? Are you alright?”  
  
“...Yixing, honey, I need you to carefully back away from the window.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Yifan gulps, slowly gesticulating up and down with one of his hands.  
  
Yixing’s eyes glance down the plane of his body, finally seeming to register the fact that he is presently naked. His face then seems to shatter as well, in light of the revelation, and he sheepishly peers out of the window to find a small crowd of people gathering on the side of the street with phone cameras aiming directly at him.  
  
“Oh, shit.”  
  
_\---fin---_

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: I blame luhan for the dissolution of this fic.
> 
> end-of-fic dictionary:  
> (note: all lyric translations of yixing’s song, mym (miss you much) used in this fic were done by me. mandarin chinese is not my first language - I apologize if I butchered something in the process. however, please note I did alter some translations slightly in order to enhance the flow of this fic.)
> 
> — “小鹿和小兔” ; “xiao lu he xiao tu” -- literally means “small deer and small rabbit”. the joke behind this line comes from the fact that the chinese words for “rabbit” (兔) and “bald” (秃) are both pronounced as some form of “tu”, with slight variations in vowel enunciation. basically, luhan is (or essentially I am) poking fun at yifan’s baldness with this play on words.
> 
> — “蛋头宝宝” ; “dan tou bao bao” -- literally “egghead baby”. it’s supposed to be endearing. I apologize if it's actually not.
> 
> — “你的头发味道真的好美” ; “ni de tou fa wei dao zhen de hao mei” -- line from yixing’s mym, literally means “your hair smells really nice/amazing/divine”.
> 
> — “全身湿透也一直在回味...” ; “quan shen shi tou ye yi zhi zai hui wei” -- line from mym, I honestly don't wanna mislead people by posting my own translation here because it's probably off. something about being drenched and surrounded.
> 
> — “你是我 baby, 你让我 crazy” ; “ni shi wo baby, ni rang wo crazy” -- arguably my favorite line from mym, I just love the simplicity and the way it's executed idk. literally says “you are my baby, you drive me crazy”.


End file.
